The silence inside the Archivum shattered the instant the man's voice curled through the chamber.
"So it's true," the stranger drawled, stepping out from behind a towering shelf of chained tomes. His boots echoed against the ancient marble floor, each stride deliberate, predatory. "The cursed blade breathes again… and it chose a boy."
Kael's grip tightened on the hilt of the dark sword at his side, though his hand trembled. He hadn't unsheathed it fully yet, only resting it against his thigh. The aura of the steel pulsed faintly, as though the weapon itself were responding to the man's presence.
The mercenary was tall and broad-shouldered, his armor battered but well-kept, the kind of steel that had seen years of war. A thick scar dragged down the side of his face, cutting through one eyebrow and giving his expression a permanent scowl. His eyes burned with recognition, not at Kael himself, but at the blade.
"You know this sword," Kael managed, though his voice wavered.
"Know it?" The man barked out a laugh, though there was nothing amused about it. "Every true swordsman knows of it. The Whispering Shadow. A blade that feeds on blood and binds itself to its wielder. But it is wasted on you, boy." His hand slid to the greatsword strapped across his back, the polished steel gleaming in the Archivum's lantern-light. "Hand it over, and I may let you crawl out of here with your life."
Elara stepped forward, staff raised, her emerald eyes hard. "Over my dead body."
The man's lip curled. "That can be arranged."
With a ringing hiss, he drew his sword, the weapon almost as tall as Kael himself. Its surface gleamed, etched with old runes, marks of battles and victories carved deep into its edge.
Kael's heart hammered. He had fought wolves. He had trained alone in the woods with his father's rusty sword. But this man… this was no wild beast, no unthinking predator. This was a predator who knew exactly what he was doing.
For a moment, Kael thought of fleeing, of grabbing Elara and bolting through the Archivum's winding halls. But the mercenary blocked the only way out, his sheer presence like a wall.
The cursed blade pulsed again at Kael's hip. It was as though it whispered, urging him to draw.
Take him. Claim his strength. You cannot survive unless you fight.
Kael swallowed, sweat slicking his palm. With a swift motion, he unsheathed the sword. The black steel gleamed faintly, shadows writhing along its length. The mercenary's eyes widened for just a heartbeat—before narrowing with greedy hunger.
"Yes," the man whispered. "That's the one."
And then he moved.
The mercenary's charge was like a storm breaking loose, his massive sword whistling through the air with terrifying speed. Kael barely managed to raise his blade in time. The impact jarred his entire body, sending him stumbling backward. His arms screamed in protest, the force of the blow nearly wrenching the weapon from his grip.
"You'll never hold it like that!" the mercenary barked, pressing forward with another slash. Kael ducked, the blade cleaving into a marble pillar, showering them in shards. "A cursed sword isn't some bauble to swing blindly. It demands blood. It demands sacrifice."
Kael's breathing grew ragged. He parried another strike, barely, the vibration rattling his bones. His stance was wrong, his footing clumsy. He had no formal training, just instinct, and even that faltered under the mercenary's relentless skill.
But the sword in his hand felt… alive. It moved almost on its own, tugging his arm, guiding his blocks and desperate slashes. Each time steel met steel, a shiver coursed through him, as though the blade were drinking in the clash.
Still, he was being pushed back, step by step.
Elara darted to the side, chanting under her breath, her staff glowing faintly as she tried to weave a spell. The mercenary, sensing her, pivoted and sent a sweeping strike toward her. Kael's stomach dropped.
"No!"
He lunged, intercepting the blow. Sparks erupted as the cursed sword met the mercenary's greatsword, the impact sending Kael sprawling to one knee. His arms shook violently, muscles screaming.
The mercenary sneered. "Pathetic. The sword sings for blood, yet you hold it like a child clinging to a toy."
End him, the blade whispered inside Kael's mind, the voice silk and steel. Let me guide you. Let me free your chains.
Kael gritted his teeth, refusing. He didn't want to surrender to it—not yet, not like this.
The mercenary kicked him square in the chest. Kael's breath exploded from his lungs as he slammed into the Archivum floor, coughing. His vision blurred.
The mercenary loomed over him, sword raised. "To claim the Whispering Shadow, its master must die. That boy will be you."
The sword's voice surged, louder now. Live or die. Choose.
Kael's fingers tightened around the hilt. He tried to rise, but his limbs felt heavy, unresponsive.
The mercenary's blade began its descent.
A flash of green light streaked across the chamber. Elara's spell struck the man's side, a blast of force that staggered him for half a heartbeat. He snarled, spinning toward her.
Kael gasped, forcing himself up. His blood roared in his ears. If he faltered now, Elara would die.
With a desperate cry, he swung. The cursed sword lashed out with unnatural speed, faster than Kael thought possible. The mercenary barely deflected, his expression flickering in surprise.
The blade laughed inside Kael's skull, a woman's voice echoing like bells. Yes. Finally, you let me breathe.
Kael staggered, horrified at the sound—but the mercenary pressed in again, anger igniting his strikes. Their clash rang out through the Archivum, steel on steel, a storm of sparks.
Kael bled from shallow cuts, his arms weak, but somehow, impossibly, he endured. He wasn't winning—not truly—but the cursed sword kept him alive, turning what should have been a massacre into a desperate stalemate.
Finally, the mercenary stepped back, breathing hard. A twisted grin curved his scarred lips.
"You're untrained, boy. Raw. But that sword… even half-asleep, it shields you. No matter. I will take it, sooner or later. Next time, your little mage won't save you."
His eyes lingered on the cursed blade, hunger burning in their depths. Then, with a sharp whistle, he backed toward the shadows of the Archivum, vanishing as quickly as he had come.
The Mercenary's retreating steps faded into the deeper halls, leaving only the echo of his promise: "I will return for that blade."
Kael staggered, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down his brow. His knuckles were white around the cursed sword's hilt. The air still thrummed with its unnatural hunger, as if the weapon mourned the lost kill.
In the silence that followed, a voice slithered into his thoughts — low, sultry, and edged with hunger:
You could have ended him. You only needed to yield yourself to me… just a little more.
Kael stiffened, his heart pounding. "Shut up," he whispered under his breath, lips barely moving.
Elara rushed to his side, gripping his arm. "Kael, are you hurt? You look pale." Her eyes darted to the black blade, its faint violet aura still flickering. "That sword… it's not normal. The way it vibrates— it feels alive."
Kael swallowed hard, forcing a weak nod. "I'm fine. Just… tired." He quickly sheathed the sword, as if hiding it would silence the truth gnawing at him.
But it didn't.
He will come again, the voice whispered, almost tender this time. And when he does, you will need me. Stop resisting, Kael. Only through me can you survive.
Kael clenched his jaw, refusing to respond, praying Elara hadn't noticed the tremor in his hands.
She pressed a cloth into his palm. "Come on. You need to rest. Tomorrow we'll figure out what this mercenary wanted and why he's after you."
Kael nodded, but his mind churned. He couldn't tell her. Not yet. The voice in the sword wasn't something anyone else should know about. If he confessed, what would she see in him? A friend? A threat? A monster?
As Elara led him deeper into the Archivum's safer chambers, Kael cast one last glance at the sheath. The cursed sword pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
You are mine, the voice breathed in his skull. And no one can save you from me.
Kael shut his eyes and kept walking. He didn't answer. He couldn't.
But deep down, he knew the Mercenary's return was only the beginning.